


Steampunked

by Hoodoo



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Bad British Accents, Blow Job, Cosplay, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fucking, SNeaking off to have sex, Semi-Public Sex, Steampunk, Vaginal Fingering, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Rick and reader get dolled up, but sneak away from festivities for some naughty fun.





	Steampunked

“This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, quiet. It’s fun!”

“It’s fucking ridiculous!”

This time you shut Rick up by physically grabbing his lips.

“It’s just for this evening! A few hours and then it’s over!” you insisted. You grabbed the hem of his waistcoat and gave it a tug to straighten it. You also adjusted the chain of his pocket watch. When you were satisfied that he looked okay in his costume, you stepped back. You asked, “How do you think I look?”

Rick’s eyes roamed over your costume, lingering on the tops of your breasts emphasized by your corset. He moved forward with a hand low and outstretched; you’ve been with him long enough to know he’s gunning for your groin. Your skirt is held high in the front by hikes and long in the back, and a petticoat poofed it out a little. 

You skipped out of his reach with a laugh. 

“How do I look?” you asked again. “Steampunk-y enough?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he grudgingly admitted. 

“Good! So do you!”

Rick rolled his eyes at that praise. It wasn’t his friend getting married. It wasn’t his friend who decided to have a steampunk themed wedding. Still, he agreed to come along as your plus one. You picked up and offered him the top hat you’d chosen for him-–it had little glass vials along the hat band!–-and he accepted it with as little surliness as he could. 

He put it on, you offered him your arm instead of contrariwise, and you were off. 

⁂

Weddings were weddings. At least this one’s pomp and circumstance was undercut by people dressed in mock-Victorian attire, made into fantasy with extra cogs, monocles, and faux weapons spray painted to look metallic. There was even a couple who pushed the envelope further by doing Nerfpunk. They stood out with their blue and orange pinstriped and ruffled suit and dress. 

Due to the willingness of the guests to indulge their hosts unorthodox request, the reception was livelier than typical. The theme was carried to the cake, which was copper colored and covered with fondant gears. The standard garter and bouquet tosses took place. Everyone ate well and drank a lot and danced.

Rick played along, even agreeing to dance with you for one song. When the place got too raucous–-with the addition of another keg-–however, you grabbed his arm and dragged him outside to the stone patio of the banquet hall. 

“Thanks for coming,” you told him.

He indicated he couldn’t hear you over the music blaring from inside. 

You took him further away from the patio doors, along the wall of the building, feeling your way in the dark since your eyes had been adapted to the bright lights indoors. By the time you were far enough away that the music was tolerable, your eyes had adjusted. 

“Thanks for coming with me,” you repeated.

Rick gave a shrug and a nod, and took a pull from his flask.

“You know, I never told you I forgot to wear panties tonight.”

He choked a little on his mouthful of alcohol. 

You continued, as if musing, “I guess I should say knickers. I forgot to wear knickers tonight.”

Rick sputtered a little, coughing for breath. “You-you-you–you’re commando under that short skirt?!”

You smirked at him. “Yep. Just like you’re going commando in those pinstriped pants of yours.”

He was finally able to collect himself, and you were able to see his sly grin flash in the dim light.

“So you wanna fool around?” he asked lecherously. 

“Why’d you think I brought you out here?” you countered, and he laughed.

Swooping in, he bypassed kissing you as you expected and buried his face in your cleavage. It tickled, and laughing, you wrapped your arms around his head. Say one thing about Rick Sanchez: he was almost always up for some naughty mischief.

Although the lawn you were standing on was manicured, it was late enough that dew had already made it damp. You had no desire to get down on to it or ruin your clothing with grass stains. So instead of going down on your knees, you squatted in front of him, releasing his cock and finding, as you’d stated, no underwear to contend with. 

You sucked him hard and fast. The chain of his pocket watch bumped repeatedly against your forehead as you moved in and away from him. It was annoying, but not so much you couldn’t ignore it. It was more about speed than finesse, blowing him here, and you didn’t give much thought to how much of your spit might be soaking into the front of his trousers. At one point Rick tried to grab your head, but in return you squeezed his wrist and wrestled it off you; you didn’t want your hair completely ruined, and you knew he would.

He gave up trying to hold you. Instead, he put both palms on the side of the building behind you, leaning over you, gasping quietly each time the head of his cock reached the back of your throat. When you were able to control your gag reflex and push him a little further in, his gasps hitched into a higher pitch.

Well before the point where he was going to come, you broke off and stood up again.

“Tease,” he puffed, but you heard the affection in his tone and not an insult.

“You’re dressed as a Victorian gentleman. I’m a Victorian lady,” you mulled for a moment, then added with a chuckle, “sort of!”

“And?” Rick replied, his voice muffled as he nuzzled your tits again. Your corset was laced tight enough that he couldn’t get to your nipples.

His hands dug around in your petticoats but didn’t quite make it to where you knew he wanted them to be. He was going to get frustrated soon, and a frustrated Rick tended to tear clothing. You grabbed his wrists, again, and pulled them back out from under your skirt.

Affecting the best British accent you could, you said, “Well, guv’ner, you seem to like my bubbies, but my cunny’s more interested in your tackle. Wanna get it on?”

Rick snorted in laughter. “That is the worst British accent I’ve ever heard!”

“That’s because hedge whores use their mouths for other things besides talking about sex!”

He laughed again. “Hedge whore, huh?”

You agreed.

“So how did Victorian whores ply their trade?”

“Hmm,” you replied, considering this. You released his wrists to pull him closer by the waist. “Well, they didn’t get completely undressed, of course, when they were out on the street. They’d just find a quiet spot, like this, lift their skirts, and let the guy fuck them.”

“Just let the guy fuck them, huh?” Rick repeated, closing the space between you completely. This time he didn’t bend to put his face in your tits, but ghosted his lips along yours. Your mouth opened and absorbed his words. “They didn’t touch the woman? Down here?”

He’d finally managed to get under your petticoat’s layers of fabric and his cool fingers wiggled between your upper thighs. The middle one slipped into your folds, earning him a sigh. He kissed and nipped your neck, near your ear, continuing in a whisper, 

“The men back then didn’t finger a woman? They didn’t tell her they liked how-how wet she was, and how much they liked feeling her soaked pussy?”

“Cunny,” you corrected, while holding your breath. His fingers explored further, stimulating your nerve endings sweetly. “And no, I’m pretty sure the guys who fucked Victorian prostitutes never fingered them or talked about how wet they were!”

Rick tsk’ed his disapproval of how men in the past may have acted, then said impishly, “Then they probably didn’t do this, either.”

The pads of two fingers found your clit and made the most feather-light, blissful, devilish circles over it. Tendrils of pleasure radiated upward from your groin deep into your belly. Instinctively you opened your legs wider and felt him grin against your neck. He kept up the minute movement on that nub of nerves, and before long, your knees were trembling and you couldn’t help but moan out loud.

“Sh-shh, shh!” he hushed you. “Don’t want the bobbies to find us and cut short our fun, do you?”

You opened your eyes. It was still dark but now at least you could see a little better, even if it was all in grey tones. You grabbed Rick around the back of his neck and pulled him roughly to your mouth, knocking his top hat crooked in your hurry. You kissed him eagerly, desperately, your tongue sparring with his before sucking it like his cock as he pulled back for breath.

“Rick, fuck me!” you begged. What had started out as a tease with you being in control became a thirsty desire for him, shifting the balance in his favor. You didn’t care, you just wanted his cock in your pussy.

Rick grinned, his teeth flashing a little. He applied a little more pressure to your clit and you whined for more; in response he moved his hand away, leaving the space between your legs throbbing and eager for more.

He made sure he had your attention–the brat!–and brought his hand to his own mouth, sucking the taste of you off his fingers. His hand was barely away from his mouth when you kissed him again.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me–-” you whispered lewdly as your hands found his erection and stroked it.

He laughed at you. “Were Victorian whores so hot to trot?”

You growled at him instead of using words to convey your displeasure that he was taking so long to get down to business.

Rick wasn’t hurried. He leaned back and looked you over. 

“You’re skirt’s so sh-short in the front. I bet you think it’d be easy for me to just fuck you against this wall, don’t you?” He dragged the tips of his fingers lightly along the outer lips of your pussy, and chuckled when you cocked your hips towards him to encourage a little more touching. 

“Yes!” you whimpered.

His chuckle became another real laugh. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Too bad I’m old and my arthritic back can’t hold you up like the guys in porn can do.”

It took you a second to put together what he meant, then you laughed along with him. 

“So then … do you want me to finish that blow job, or do you want to get the heck out of here and get home?”

Rick’s brow furrowed. “I thought you wanted fucked.”

“I do! But you said you couldn’t do it here, so let’s get home and-–”

“I said I couldn’t fuck you from the front,” he interrupted.

“-–what?”

“I said I don’t think it’d work, facing each other. If you turned around, though …”

He waited for you to process this suggestion too. When your grin widened, so did his, and you didn’t say anything more. You spun on your heels to face the wall, started hiking up your skirt, and bent over. 

Behind you, Rick helped move all the fabric up and away. It wasn’t easy and he grumbled about it, but you hurried him along by wiggling your ass against him. When he was finally able to reach skin again, his fingers slipped along your slit and found your clit once more. You hissed your approval as pleasure renewed itself. Rick chuckled. One hand stayed on your hip, under your skirt, and the one fondling you disappeared.

You heard him spit, then the distinctive sound of him stroking his length, then the head of his cock bumped along your pussy. It slipped forward instead of in, putting heavier pressure on your clit that made you gasp. 

Rick cursed half under his breath, then hearing your groan of pleasure, did it again.

His fingers felt along you. One found exactly where he wanted to be, dipping inside you like a tease. You tensed and gave a breathy moan, which made him finger fuck you for a second. When you reached back between your legs, however, wanting something more substantial in you, he took his hand away. 

You grasped his cock, sight unseen, and guided him to exactly where you wanted him to be. You spread your legs a little wider and swayed your back for easier access, and with a thrust of his hips, Rick popped his cock into you.

It opened you up beautifully and your moan this time was low and drawn out.

He moved slowly, at first. 

“Jesus-–you’re tight! You like that, baby? You like my cock?”

You could only agree. “Yes, yes, I love it! Rick–”

“Mmm-hmm, I love this too. Your cunt’s–sorry, cunny! Your cunny’s so tight in this position, it’s so fucking good–”

The pace of his hips picked up, the more wet you got. Over the sound of rustling fabric from your skirt and petticoats, the obscene sounds of his cock thrusting into your sodden pussy could be heard. You’d kept the hand you’d used to direct him into you there for a moment, playing with your own clit while he fucked you, adding a deeper dimension to the pleasure that was building, but when Rick became more forceful, you had to use both hands to support yourself against the wall.

Rick’s dirty talk disintegrated into gasps that rivaled yours. Out here, in the dark, where anyone from the party could happen to find you if they just looked, bent over like the whore you pretended to be, Rick’s cock moving in and out of your pussy was so good–you dropped your head and cried out wantonly as your pleasure peaked. 

Your pussy contracted around him rhythmically. Rick wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t realize you’d orgasmed. 

“That’s it baby-–christ, I love to feel you come on my cock. That feels so good, your cunt squeezing me-–”

He broke off again with a deep moan in his throat. You knew the signs of his own impending climax, and deliberately clenched your muscles again. It sent more pleasure through you, so you knew it would for him too. Rick thrust into your tightened pussy, then paused, buried to his balls in you. 

Panting, you twisted a little to look over your shoulder at him. He had his eyes closed, his brow furrowed. His fingers were clamped tightly on your hips. 

“Fuck me hard, Rick,” you told him.

As if those were the magic words, he complied again. He wasn’t gentle, pounding into your pussy. The force of his fucking pushed your forward and you rested your forehead on one of your arms to prevent it from striking the building. You moaned in time with his each of his shallow thrusts, and it wasn’t much longer before his fingers pinched you bruisingly and his pelvis bucked one last time against you.

He grunted and kept his cock keep inside of you as he came. You clenched and released your pussy around him, milking his cock of all his ejaculate, humming your satisfaction while he took several moments to come back down to earth. 

When he finally was able to take a step back, his cock slipped from you, making you both groan again. All the jizz that had been stoppered inside you flowed out too, soaking your inner thighs.

Shakily you stood back up and turned to face him again. You both panted for breath. You readjusted your skirt, while carefully, Rick tucked himself away into his trousers. His erection was slowly waning. When he was done rezipping and buckling, he kissed you lightly.

“I am drenched,” you told him, without malice.

“What did those Victorian whores do about that?”

“I don’t have a clue. Not wear skirts that showed off the front of their legs is the main thing, I bet.”

Rick laughed. “Do you want to just get out of here? Or-or-or do you have some social obligation to say goodbye to your friends?”

You thought this over. “I do have a social obligation, but drenched in and smelling like come overrides it. I’ll tell them you got too drunk and I had to drag you home before you made a huge scene.”

Rick argued that using him as a scapegoat wasn’t fair, but you just laughed him off, hooked your arm in his, and walked back to the car, your soaked legs making tiny squelching noises then entire way. 

_fin._


End file.
